


A Devilish Plan

by stjarna



Series: Writing Prompts / Drabbles / Requests [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fun, He is Scottish I had to go there, Relationship Problems, Tumblr Prompt, Writing prompt: "You're Satan.", fight, mention of Fitz's mother, reaching an agreement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8388841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Fitz doesn't seem too happy when Jemma allies herself with his mum on a subject of utter importance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wakandandperthshire requested Nr. 19 + Fitzsimmons from a [list of writing prompts on Tumblr](http://the-nerdy-stjarna.tumblr.com/post/152337867554/drabble-challenge).
> 
> The task: Incorporate the phrase “You’re Satan.” into your fic/drabble.
> 
> This ficlet was written as a stand alone fic, but could theoretically be seen as a missing scene to [Ghosts That We Knew](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8227618) (although it will require another missing scene to be written :) )

“Yeah, alright, mum,” he mumbles, his phone pressed against his ear, his free fingers anxiously scratching his throat. “yeaaaah, I’m excited too,” he says unconvincingly, scrunching his face, glaring at Jemma. “Yeah. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up and puts the phone down on the kitchen counter, before slowly turning to face Jemma.

His index finger darts forward, shaking angrily in her direction. His blue eyes shimmer fiery.

“You’re Satan,” he says slowly, his eyes wide open. His second index finger shoots out, joining the other, pointing furiously at Jemma. “You’re _actually_ Satan!” he exclaims, noticeably raising his voice.

He places his hands on his hips and exhales sharply.

“Well,” Jemma says nervously, gesturing at her chest with one hand, “ _I_ don’t think such a comment is warranted.”

Fitz’s hands leave his hips as quickly as they found rest there. “ _Not_ _warranted_?” He forms fists and clenches his jaw, trying to keep some composure. “Jemma! You told my _mum_ that I wanted to wear a _kilt_ to our wedding!”

Jemma’s lips twitch nervously as she tries to suppress a grin.

“ ** _A KILT?!?_** ” Fitz yells.

When Jemma doesn’t reply, he continues, sounding defeated. “And now she’s _excited_ … and won’t shut up about it… and I’m not gonna get out of this!”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to see you in one, and I think it’s a nice tradit—“ Jemma tries to interject.

“No!” he interrupts her, throwing his hands in the air. “No, it’s not.” He slumps his shoulders, before looking back at her with sad blue puppy eyes. “You _know_ how weirdly patriotic and old-fashioned she gets when it comes to my Scottish heritage, Jemma.”

“So?” Jemma inquires innocently.

“So,” he replies, clearly irritated, “She’s gonna _insist_ that if I wear a _kilt_ , I’ll have to do it…” He puts on a pained fake smile of enthusiasm, swinging up his fist, “…the good-ol’ _true_ Scotsman’s way.”

Jemma smiles involuntarily.

“She’s gonna make me go _regimental_ , Jemma!” he yells, agitatedly, pointing at his pants. “I’d like my balls to be covered on my wedding day. Is that so much to ask?” he pleads, before his hand flails to the side. “Especially considering how bloody windy our chosen _outdoor_ location is!”

He sighs, trying to calm down, “I _know_ you wanted to see me in a kilt, but it should have been _my_ decision! Not _you_ conspiring with my mum.”

“Well,” Jemma shrugs her shoulders, smiling mischievously, while Fitz angrily squints his eyes, waiting for her counterargument. “I _will_ admit that my methods of ensuring you will wear a kilt at our wedding were _maybe_ a bit unethical, and I do apologize for that. _But_ if I’m _completely_ truthful, Fitz, it wasn’t just about the kilt _per se_.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows, silently, allowing her to continue. “The going-regimental aspect was _really_ a major part of the appeal.”

His nostrils draw in air, and Jemma is half expecting him to exhale fire. His hands form claws, and it seems as if he can barely restrain himself from strangling her. His index fingers shoot back out, pointing at her again, and through his teeth he hisses, “Have I mentioned you’re Satan?... _SATAN!_ ”

“Oh, I’m not Satan, Fitz,” she replies, a devilish smile playing on her lips, “Even though I’m planning on taking advantage of your traditional Scottish wardrobe by doing some _very_ ungodly things under the table during our reception,” she adds, looking at him suggestively.

His eyes shoot open, and she’s fairly certain he has stopped breathing.

“Are you suggesting,” he mumbles eventually, swallowing nervously, scratching the back of his head, “that _if_ I wear a kilt on our wedding…” he clears his throat, “the _true_ Scotsman’s way… that you will…”

“That’s _exactly_ , what I’m suggesting, Dr. Fitz” Jemma replies, the corner of her mouth quirking up ever so slightly.

He takes a slow deep breath, and exhales sharply, before beginning to gently nod. “Well,” he finally mutters breathlessly, “I suppose it’s a nice tradition.”


End file.
